Milkshake, anyone?

Dogfish Head Craft Brewery in Milton, DE

I think it’s telling that our 400th post here at Barbeerians is a review of a Dogfish beer. Even before my days of getting into Dogfish beer at Michigan, the mystique surrounding the Delaware craft brewery was at atmospheric levels. It was unobtainable in Montana, and their 120 Minute IPA was one of the costliest beers on the menu at our favorite bar in Ann Arbor. So when I first started diving into craft beers, Dogfish rose to the top quickly. I still like seeking out all of their selections. Even if a raspberry or blueberry puree beer doesn’t sound like the best thing, there’s a damn good chance the beer will be drinkable and unlike anything else you’ll ever try. But with this innovation comes some luck. Even when I do try a funky Dogfish beer, I’m afraid the ~$15 I’ve spent could deliver something like a glorified grape juice. So sometimes, it’s nice to find a solid and down-to-earth beer from Dogfish that isn’t made from insect wings or golden pixie dust gathered from a lunar module, which is partly why I’m such an enormous fan of the Dogfish Head Immort Ale, a beer packed with some rather stock flavors that come together to form a tasty crescendo of everyday beer elements.

The Immort pours a really crisp looking dark golden red color and has deep flavors popping off the top of the beer in form of roasted, smoky malt and almost some lighter touches of chipotle mixed with vanilla. The head on the beer hung around for generations, and the carbonation was higher on this one than I expected. The taste, though, was the strong point (thankfully) with a sweet blast from the vanilla and maple coming through right away. The vanilla taste in the beer really trumped almost everything else and combined quite well with the high viscosity to create a smooth and sweet treat. If you made a rich milkshake with vanilla, lots of bourbon, some maple sweetness and some malt and blended the bad boy for a few years, you might have a pretty good analogue for the Immort Ale.

Granted, this might not be what most people are looking for in a high gravity beer from Dogfish Head, but the creaminess and the smoothness combined with the vanilla really created a beer that was unique and still didn’t taste like a Smirnoff Vanilla Milkshake Icy Fun Time Beverage drink that some sweeter beers can start to emulate. This is certainly a beer worth seeking out even if you don’t like softer, sweeter beers–it still packs a boozy punch with enough elements to please a range of beer fans.

I hope I'm not rushing into things too quickly here. (Photo via MK Heisler)

Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales in Dexter, MI

A new love is brewing. And I’m afraid it’s going to tear a friendship apart.

Gary waxed poetic not long ago about his fascination with the sour ale giants in Dexter, MI, Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales. I’d always been fascinated with their beers, but had only a brief time to sample their selections when I was still living in Michigan. The brewery was just starting to explode as I left the state, and my mind had still not been made up about these funky and sour beers that certainly didn’t taste like regular amber ales or stouts. A trip back to Ann Arbor for New Year’s tossed me into their new brewhouse downtown where I got my hands on a few of these other hard-to-come-by ales, but the jury was still out.

But here JP and I are again, finding ourselves in the same city, seeing each other at the same bars, and occasionally running into each other at our favorite stores. We chat a little bit, flirt, and decide to go out for drinks. I try to tell Gary, but I know it will hurt him right now since he’s on a brief hiatus in Arkansas, so I keep it short. I tell him we’re just friends. That’s all.

But, Gary, this is bad news, but I’m in love with Oro de Calabaza, and I’m afraid others might be, too.

Ron Jeffries, owner of Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales.

It’s nice to find beer here that is such a different offering than what I’ve ever tried before. I’ve tried to branch out from my standards, and Jolly Pumpkin is really holding my hand through a lot of this new journey. And the Oro is quite a fucking tour guide.

Pouring a luscious and ultra-carbonated golden amber, the Oro immediately erupted with a strong and flavorful scent of citrus fruits like lemon and sprinklings of orange. The sour funk wasn’t as pronounced as expected, and it actually helped to cut the overall intensity that I thought the fruit would bring. There really is no time to waste on this one, so I took a sip and hoped to be astounded. What I got was pure love. This might be one of the most refreshing and drinkable ales I’ve ever enjoyed. Splashes of lemon zest mingled perfectly with a full and soft mouthfeel that meshed in to a perfect cover of sour touches at the end. Again, I was expecting a lot more sour hints, but this one was quite somber. Further sips only bring out further flavors with touches of pineapple touching hints of malt again splash slowly and easily into a nice farmhouse feeling. For 8%, you’d think more alcohol would peak through underneath the sour notes, but it was nowhere to be found. Which could be a true recipe for disaster if I ever found this on tap somewhere in D.C.

So, yes, a love affair is blossoming. I hate telling people about how great Jolly Pumpkin is in general, fearing that others will go after such an attractive specimen and that I won’t be able to see her often, if at all. Even so, maybe it’s better that way. I don’t want to ruin such a good thing by rushing into it so quickly.

I'm sorry, but I think we're just friends now. I might be open to a relationship in a few months. Will that work?

Founders Brewing Company in Grand Rapids, MI

How important is aging? I’m not asking this in an NBC special sort of way or in an attention-grabbing headline in the style of the Huffington Post or the Drudge Report. Rather, I’m asking this when it comes to beer.

I understand that brewers these days are making more and more brews that are meant to be preserved and held onto for as little as a few months and for as long as a few decades. I get this. The beer changes over time. Different flavors appear as fermentation continues. But with the proliferation of so many of these beers on the market, I’m having a hard time choosing which ones I want to open immediately like Christmas presents and which ones I need to put away in my tiny closet and attempt to not drink for the next few months. Should these beers that can be aged for quite some time actually be aged, or should they be drinkable right out of the bottle? Or should they be real firecrackers right on the day or bottling, only to become truly perfect gems after sitting in your beer cellar (*cough closet cough) for a number of years?

I only bring this up because of how much I actually enjoy the Founders Nemesis 2010 edition, a black IPA/barleywine hybrid. It’s a special beer that is released only once. Founders even notes that this can be a rather experimental beer. And I’m quite OK with all of this. I only have to think how much better this beer could be if it sat around for a few years. Then what would we have?

Part of the reason I have trouble with hanging onto beer is not only the space issue, but the temperature issue. I know you’re supposed to keep them at cooler temps at all times, but I can’t say I have a big enough fridge or a dedicated beer fridge yet in my apartment to make this happen. I don’t even know if having them stored at 70 degrees makes that much of a difference, but I feel like if I keep a beer around for so long, I should keep it in ideal conditions.

The other reason I have trouble with holding onto beers is, well… most of the special bottles I pick up look awfully fucking delicious. Black IPA and barleywine? This is why I couldn’t hang onto Nemesis 2010 for more than a few days. The color on it was as magnificent as any of my other Founders lovers, a dark and very rich brown with a gorgeous chocolate-cream head just barely sitting on top of the snifter when it was swirled around. The smell was thick with molasses and a rather boozy, almost bourbon-like, scent. The beer looked quite syrupy, more so than expected, and the first taste confirmed that immediately. A heavy and thick curtain of really dry and earthy malt kicks in immediately with just the slightest background of a barleywine’s sweetness. The malt really hangs on the tongue for generations, and adds a bit of smokiness that mixes with a hop tickle near the absolute end. I really waited for the barleywine’s scene, but somewhere along the editing process, it hit the cutting room floor. I had a hard time finding any real sweetness or a blast of alcohol (especially considering the 12% ABV), and even the high IBU level left me a little disappointed. The warmer it got, the less sweet it became. Not exactly a knock-out punch.

What I’m trying to get at is this is a very good black IPA. The flavors here are thicker and richer than many others I’ve had. But I’m missing the barleywine crunch. I would assume that if this bad boy hung out for quite a few more months or years, this would develop into a deep and succulent beer with more layers than an onion. As is, drink it for the great black IPA qualities, but save it for the feast of flavors that will surely come later.

Go Away. Please, just go away.

New Holland Brewing Company in Holland, MI

You’re walking down Columbia. It’s not too late yet. We’re just into September. You remember that Septembers signal the beginnings of college football and the smell of drying leaves against a backdrop of cool nights where you can have your car window down almost all the way on your drive home. But it can get chilly late, late at night, at times when you’re out. But September in the East isn’t like that. September is still swampy–thick and sticky, like swimming in a pool of creamed corn that’s been on the oven for way too long. You’re walking, though, anyway, and you notice a man coming towards you. You don’t know him, so you ignore him, and he passes by you on the street. It’s still too hot, and the sun is just barely going to bed on the horizon, but you can’t see it. You only see this man, now right behind you, asking you, “Have you ever been to Mexico?” You say you haven’t been. From there, things go downhill. He invites you to walk with him, and he hands you an El Mole Ocho beer from New Holland Brewing.

This man starts talking incessantly about Mexican food and the flavors that come to mind just from the imagination running its course. He tells you the El Mole Ocho is a beer dedicated to the mole flavors of the South, a unique, dark blend of chilis with a distinctive earthy and smoky flavor. You try the beer, hoping to be transported to a foreign land and swept away by smells and culture that comes from a simple sauce that packs such a punch. The beer, though, disappoints. You’re initially excited. You see a dark burgundy-amber beer that smells of sweet coffee and other complex chili flavors. The initial taste puts your mouth in a blender, with flavors of coffee and sweet malt tickling around everywhere. You’re still excited. But then the ugly side comes out. This man gets angry. You sense a dull and earthy funk now, and you worry about where you are. The man is very angry now and yelling. The beer gets worse. He keeps getting dirtier, just like the beer. You can’t stand either of them, now, and you quickly finish the beer before abruptly leaving, never wanting to return to either again.

You walk home and it’s dark now, with the orange glow of street lamps barely lighting the side streets. You flavor of the beer is still in your mouth, as is the image of the ugly, torturous man. You want to go to Mexico. You want to sample real mole. But you know you will not do either of those soon. And you certainly won’t see the man or the beer again anytime soon. Ever.

Sour. But not in the good way. (Photo via MK Heisler)

For all the hubbub surrounding Brewery Ommegang, I’m quite surprised that this is the first time I’ll be addressing any beer from the New York rarity. If you’re unfamiliar with the place, they specialize in bringing true, Belgian style ales to the United States. Sure, a few American breweries will toss out a tripel or a Belgian style IPA occasionally, but Ommegang only specializes in Belgians. I’ve said for quite sometime now that I’m not the biggest fan of Belgian style beers. I can find them a bit too fruity or boozy for my liking, and I’m often nonplussed by the massive presence of Belgians at local bars that couldn’t give a shit about quality beer. So I guess what I’m saying is: This is why I’ve avoided beer from Ommegang like the plague. But things are changing. I may be getting spoiled, but I’m tiring of the standard stouts and IPAs in great quantity here, so I’m trying  to branch out. Surely there are Belgians worthy of my verbosity, and maybe Ommegang could take me to the dark side. My current forays into sour ales from Jolly Pumpkin and others brought me to a perfect outlier on my beer screen: the Ommegang Bière de Mars, a Belgian amber with the famous Brettanomyces bruxellensis, a wild yeast known for adding a sour touch to brews.

Though I was somewhat skeptical about the style, I was excited to finally dig into an Ommegang beer, especially one with a touch of Brettanomyces. The beer poured a somewhat murky, golden-red amber color, without a ton of junk floating around like I expected. The head stuck around on the beer for centuries, and remained through the duration of the glass. The smell wasn’t overly astounding either, with just some soft hints of sweet fruit, maybe clove, and some light malt. I expected the taste to be like nothing else I’d ever had, with bursts of sour painted on a sweet amber profile, but I was tossed onto a pile of pillows lined with a subtle apple flavor lined with a muted malt backbone that falls away very delicately to a slightly sour profile. The longer the beer sat, the less I found within the flavor, as the beer actually became tamer as it warmed with a light sweetness and the blended sour flavor kicking around in spurts. Certainly not a stunning brew, but also one that was highly drinkable and enjoyable. In fact, my bottle was gone in virtually no time at all.

So my foray into a new style may not have gone as planned to begin with. I appreciate the effort on this one, and I still found it to be awfully drinkable and enjoyable, but for the price and hoopla, this wasn’t what I wanted. The flavor profiles are there, but if I’m going to buy a Warhol print for a hefty price, I better get something bigger than a 1″ x 1″ picture of the letter “X.”

Thanksgiving in August? All right. (Photo via MK Heisler)

Saint Louis Brewery in St. Louis, MO

Holy hell there are some terrible pumpkin beers on the market. I’ve always known pumpkin was a perfect compliment for a great beer, with the hints of nutmeg, cinnamon, and other fall spices. For me, those could translate over to so many different beer styles–IPA, pale ale, strong ale, whatever. But little did I know a whole genre of pumpkin ales was brewing on its own. I thought a few breweries probably dabbled in this realm, and when I first started my craft beer life, I remember finding something called Jack’s Pumpkin Spice Ale and knowing it would be fantastic. Wrong. Terrible. But not completely unsurprising considering it was one of the dreadful Anheuser-Busch macros in a micros clothing. I was betrayed! I tried a few other pumpkin beers and was always disappointed. Maybe a brewery couldn’t pull off a good pumpkin ale, or maybe what I was imagining just didn’t exist. With the recent influx of fall beers into the D.C. area (which, seriously, college football hasn’t even started yet and we’re already seeing Oktoberfests and pumpkins? I’m still not sure how I feel about that), pumpkins are everywhere. I took one final stab in the dark at the Schlafly Pumpkin Ale and hoped for the best.

I’d never had any Schlafly beers before, and I almost had a feeling that they were a brewing company that sold knock-off micros. However, I saw that Meridian Pint was having a beer dinner event with Schlafly for D.C. Beer Week, so I knew they couldn’t be terrible.

The pumpkin poured a good-looking (surprise!) orange pumpkin color and immediately smelled quite strongly of ground nutmeg and cinnamon. A burst of sweetness was also present in the nose, and I was immediately transferred to Thanksgiving day dessert. The taste didn’t disappoint in this regard, either, with a heavy blast of pumpkin flavor complimented by a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg that really felt like fall in a glass. The pumpkin spice was quite balanced and the sweetness really blew through underneath the fall flavors. The only real knock I have against the beer is that maybe a better blast of bitter hops throughout could really make this a dynamic brew. As is, it’s a little too sweet for mass consumption and for anything other than a drink of every few weeks, but maybe this sentiment will change when it still isn’t 95 degrees outside.

Overall, I don’t have too many complaints about Schlafly Pumpkin. If you’ve been thrown astray on a search for good pumpkin beers, Schlafly is worth a try. A little bit less sweetness and maybe an increase in ABV could really translate this into a stunning beer but for now, just quietly enjoy the first real taste of succulent pumpkin pie you can get before November.

Maybe if I drink enough of these I can pretend I'm skiing.

Avery Brewing Company in Boulder, CO

The hardest thing I have to live without on the East Coast is skiing. Though it’s been at least four years since I last found myself on a mountain, I really miss those early Saturday mornings filled with McDonald’s breakfast and a cramped red truck chugging its way toward the top of the local ski area as the temps outside dipped as low as -20. Those were great days, especially when you found great powder or a day when you skied a trail perfectly or tried a new trick you’d never accomplished before. Those days were a little bit before my drinking days, and definitely before my days of stout love, but seeing a bottle like Avery’s Out of Bounds Stout, with the skier on the front and the ski dictionary name-dropping in the title just makes a man want to fly out to Boulder right now and wait for the first major snow dump of the year. And the skiing might not even be the best part. The best part would be knowing that you could find Out of Bounds Stout on tap all over Boulder no matter the time of year. That would be quite enjoyable. But with a place like the Brickskeller, there really isn’t any reason to leave the bottled beer mecca of the US.

The Out of Bounds Stout doesn’t try to be too flashy or overly exuberant–it’s just a very well done Irish Dry Stout. Considering the cast of characters in the stout world, it’s nice to find a reliable standby. Pouring your standard dark of dark, the Out of Bounds smelled lightly of toasted malt and a touch of coffee. The beer didn’t look overly thick or viscous, which is nice to find from time to time. The taste was quite nice, as well, with a sprinkling of well-tuned, dry malt hitting the tongue immediately with a good dose of hops to balance out the roasted flavor. The dry malt flavor really penetrated every further sip but upon warming, the OOB really did start to thicken up and became a rich delight. It wasn’t overpowering, but the balance of flavor was executed to perfection.

As I said, there’s nothing commanding or outright dangerous about Out of Bounds. It’s a smartly-conceived stout that won’t burn the belly but will keep you warm on cold nights. As far as the name, maybe Out of Bounds is a bit off. Maybe something slightly tamer like The Groomers Stout would be better. You know what you’re getting, you’re going to enjoy it, and you probably won’t wash out. You can send your royalty checks to me directly, Avery, for the name change. Thanks.

"Have we met?" "No." "I think you're right."

Dogfish Head Craft Brewery in Milton, DE

You know the guy that’s always sitting at the bar? You know, the bar you always go to after work or at least once a weekend? He never sits at a table. He always seems to find a seat at the bar no matter how many people are there. You’ve never seen him arrive, and you’ve never watched him leave. Somehow, though, he will always have a seat, and he will always draw a crowd around him. He’s always cool-headed and doesn’t do anything too exciting and doesn’t go out of his way to start a scene, nor does he go out of his way to do any grand gestures for the other bar-goers. But there he is. Every time you go to the bar, he is there. He’s a guy you’ve thought of talking to numerous times, but you always decide to go another route, just barely making eye contact, just enough to know you’re there. But he notices you, too. He knows you’re at the bar. And he wants to talk to you. What do you do? Well, you sit next to him in that one empty bar stool at the oak-lined bar that hits you in the face with a scent of bleach and thick malt. You sit down. He orders you a 60 Minute IPA from Dogfish Head, a beer you’ve had dozens of times, and you sit, and you listen.

Your new friend, if you can call him that at this moment, is bright and fragrant. His complexion is immaculate, with a certain glow to him that you’ve seen before in magazines and on television shows. You can smell him just sitting there, and you don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s a slight touch of floral citrus hops, and maybe it’s a hint of the alcohol on his breath. You just don’t know. You take him in, though, and you savor his every word. He’s a wise man with a lot to behold, but his front is bitter. You get past that, though, and you dig deeper. He tells you stories you’ve heard before from others before him. Remember–it won’t be the last time you hear these stories. You still try to find something new in the stories. He tells you one of yeasts and beer with so many hops they almost march through your mouth. You agree. He tells you of a slight whiskey finish you can find on guys that are much like him. You agree. He tells you to not read too much into what he’s saying, but he claims he’s actually quite sweet once you get to know him. You again, agree. Things go well. You’re happy.

The talk isn’t enough, but something tells you to leave. There are others at the bar to talk to. There are others downstairs. Maybe even your friends are downstairs. He understands. He knows his place at the bar. He doesn’t need to impress anyone; everyone has already been impressed. Maybe he’s sad, but you doubt it. Whatever his name, though, you don’t learn it, you just know that he’ll be back whenever you need him. He’ll be at the next bar you go to. And the next one. And maybe even the next one. He’s everywhere, and he’ll be there when you need him. Remember that. You will need him. Soon.

Truly a beast.

Great Lakes Brewing Company in Cleveland, OH

Say what you want about Cleveland, OH (and believe me, a lot of it has been and will be said), but the Great Lakes Brewing Company is one of the best breweries in the country. Which makes it a shame that it has to reside in a city that gets such flack and also must be related to Ohio State in some way. Regardless, Great Lakes does not make a beer that is worth passing over. And undoubtedly, some of their consistent stunners are their IPAs. From their Commodore Perry to the Lake Erie Monster, Great Lakes knows how to produce a powerfully hoppy beer with wonderfully well-rounded characteristics. So whenever I’m lucky enough to find the Lake Erie Monster hanging around the shelves even after being released a few months ago, I have no problem with immediately jumping on a beer that packs a wallop at over 9% ABV, but remains incredibly drinkable no matter the temperature outside or the state the beer happens to be from. Have I mentioned yet that I hate Ohio?

Despite my hatred, the Lake Erie Monster really makes up for a lot of the ill-feelings I have toward that lesser state south of Michigan. Pouring a gorgeous and rich-looking cloudy, honey-wheat color that included a thick and frothy cream head atop my pint glass, the Monster set up perfectly as a dastardly IPA. The nose was filled with piney and citrusy hops that could knock over anyone with a top-notch olfactory sense. The taste never disappointed, either, with an instant hop explosion taking over all your senses. A persistent bitterness lingers through the duration of every sip and really adds another dimension for the hops to showcase their intensity. A slight apricot flourish is noticeable underneath some of the more earthy hop tones that brush perfectly against the bed set out by the full-bodied malt. I guess what I’m getting at here is: DELICIOUS.

Definitely not your average IPA or even a standard double IPA, the Lake Erie Monster may take the cake as one of the most delicious, affordable, and dynamic imperial IPAs I’ve ever had. It’s a nice beer to enjoy all summer long, but might even be hearty enough to carry your over into the seasons of dark beers. However, don’t expect me to relate myself with anything from Ohio during football season. For me, that’s just blasphemy. Great Lakes, I’ll see you in the winter.

Look, I'm just not that into you.

Pratt Street Ale House in Baltimore, MD

I’m starting to worry about my relationship with cask ales. Once a rare commodity that was worth immediately jumping to and consuming, these cask ales are starting to leave me a little bit high and dry on weekends. You know, sometimes I just want to stay in and enjoy a thick and flavorful pint on weekends, but no. You, cask ales, have to go off and have a lame night filled with nothing and you insist on towing me along for the ride. Well, I’m getting to the point where I can’t take it anymore, cask. It’s getting to be too much for me. What used to be a kind and loving relationship has turned flat and dull. I just can’t tolerate you the way I used to. In the past, whenever I’d see you arrive at the bar, I would approach with a smile and you’d kindly greet me in a long and slender outfit, wearing just the right color. And none of that has changed. But you can’t be all appearances, you know? I need substance along with sex appeal, and to be honest, cask ales, you’re just not cutting it. And my final straw may have come when you showed up as an Oliver’s ESB.

Like always, you were dressed to perfection when I saw you–a crisp, thin reddish amber, but this time you didn’t want any attention drawn to your head, so you left that accessory at home, or something. I should have known something was up, though, when I couldn’t find your usual strong and malty smell I would find in other bitter partners. And that’s when things went really south. You were so watery on this night, and every time I tried to get something out of you, you would put on a front of nothingness and would try to tie things together at the end with just the lightest touch of sweetness. And you know what? That’s not enough for me. I tried to find something more in you, after all, you look so good in red, but even the bitterness that you’ve shown me before wasn’t present. For christ’s sake, your name is Extra Special Bitter! You need to show me that sometimes, OK? But no, you went out just like you planned–tasting not too differently than some tasteless and flavorless red-colored Vitamin Water. Shame on you.

Any other day, I think I could handle your sister–the original Oliver’s ESB. I bet she has the same great features as you do, and even has a wonderful smell, and by god, I bet she even has some substance to her. But you, my dear, on cask, you are nothing more than a flavor of the week–and one I don’t look to sample again anytime soon.